Believing Is Seeing
by TheVelvetDusk
Summary: "Sometimes he thinks he's exaggerating it in his head. Maybe he believes so strongly that it should be happening that he's only seeing what he wants to see." [ Or the six times Rufus suspects that Lucy and Wyatt are totally in love, and the one time he wishes he could scrub his eyes with bleach ] Lyatt, set somewhere in the season 2 future.
1. Chapter 1

_a/n: I wrote this last week because I couldn't stop myself. Someone send help, because I'm a self-indulgent idiot. Get ready for nearly 12k words of ridiculous shipper rambles because I AM RUFUS._

 _I was already planning a lot of these scenes in my head prior to the_ _Lucy/Wyatt fanfic challenge week #5 prompt (shirt sharing, yesss) was posted on tumblr, but then I saw it and decided to add it in (like this wasn't already long enough, lol). I don't post stories on tumblr but I thought it was worth mentioning that this sort of fits in with that...?_

 _This takes place somewhere in the season 2 future. Still don't own Timeless. ENJOY._

* * *

 _i._

Rufus sees it all the time. A look between them that lasts too long, carries too much meaning. The sweeping hugs, the teasing banter, the poignant smiles. The way they never hesitate to fling themselves head-on into conflict for one another, the way they both stick up for each other without a scrap of uncertainty or self-preservation. Their instinct to protect is innate, unmistakably natural.

Sometimes he thinks he's exaggerating it in his head. Maybe he wants each of them to find happiness so badly that he's willing to create something that isn't really there. Maybe he believes so strongly that it _should_ be happening that he's only seeing what he wants to see.

But then Jiya began to slip in some sly comments of her own, her eyes widening with significant glances in Rufus' direction every time Lucy and Wyatt did something intrinsically _couple-y_ , sometimes going so far as nudging his side and nodding her head toward them to make sure that he is also noticing the sparks flying between his two teammates. She is unbelievably obvious in these little moments. Seriously, why doesn't she just stand up on her chair and shout across their open-air workspace - Look everyone, Wyatt and Lucy are in love!

The funniest part is that neither of them ever seem to take any notice of Jiya's shameless gawking. It's one thing for Lucy to miss it, but _Wyatt_? Wyatt is the most perceptive person Rufus has ever met, and yet he seems equally oblivious to the prying scrutiny of those around him. It's just one more piece of evidence to add to the growing collection - if Wyatt could be so absorbed in whatever Lucy was saying or doing that he simply does not see Rufus and Jiya staring at them like they're two animals being photographed by National Geographic, then how could he _not_ be in love? The guy is not easily distracted under any other circumstances. It has to be a sign.

But despite his own curiosity and Jiya's unshakable confidence that something is definitely already underway between the pair of them, Rufus has no intentions of digging for real answers. He isn't a natural meddler. Well, he _is_ a meddler when it comes to gadgets, mechanisms, and operating systems...but people? No, not his thing. He doesn't make a habit of sticking his nose in where it doesn't belong, a characteristic that's been heightened to new degrees when it comes to his Time Team. After all, hasn't he done enough of that already? He intruded on their privacy for far too long on behalf of freaking _Rittenhouse_ , for God's sake. That was more than enough snooping to last him a lifetime. And was it really his business if they were dating? They'd let him know, wouldn't they? Eventually. Maybe.

Unless they wanted to hide it from Homeland Security. Or from Rittenhouse. Or both.

Definitely both.

Damn it, they were totally dating already, weren't they?

Rufus decides it doesn't matter. They would tell him if they wanted to, and that's enough for him. He's probably overreacting anyway. Wyatt and Lucy have both stuck their necks out for him on more than one occasion, but that doesn't mean they're secretly harboring feelings for him too, does it?

That thought is so preposterous that he starts snickering aloud, earning a confused glare from a passing engineer who is on his way home for the night. Rufus nods to the guy, trying to appear a bit less insane for the sake of job security, and then begins packing up his own stuff. It's gotten late and while he's always been a night owl who prefers to do his best work in the middle of the night, his new gig as an on-call time machine pilot takes its toll on his nocturnal routine. He never knows when he's going to get a chance to crash, so it's in everyone's best interest that he gets rest whenever and wherever he can.

And it turns out that he chose wisely, because only four hours later his phone is ringing and Agent Christopher is bringing him back in to chase Emma through time...again.

It's the middle of the night, and San Francisco is glowing with nothing more than neon lights and streetlamps. Rufus feels slightly rumpled, a little sleepy, but more or less ready to do what needs to be done. He's beyond pissed with Emma and the rest of her creepy little shadow organization, but since he often keeps odd hours anyway, he's fully awake by the time he arrives back at Mason Industries.

So _not_ the case with Lucy, however.

She appears with a seemingly permanent pucker between her eyebrows, a long coat wrapped around her and a haze of sleep still present in her features. Rufus is about to call out a greeting, not really sure if it's too soon to say 'Good morning' even though it _is_ technically accurate, but then he stops himself as Wyatt rounds the corner right at her heels, his hand automatically curling around her elbow. He hands her a set of keys and she pockets them without a word, her weary facial expression thawing ever so slightly as Wyatt's hand shifts up and around to her opposite shoulder and stays there.

Rufus knows they often come in together now. Lucy had initially bounced between Wyatt's couch and Jiya's guestroom for the first few weeks after fleeing her mother's house, and then eventually began renting an apartment right down the hall from Wyatt when the former tenants chose - with remarkably convenient timing - to move elsewhere. Sometimes Rufus still isn't sure if that apartment actually opened up at just the right time or if Wyatt had somehow _created_ that vacancy through his own mysterious methods, but some puzzles are better off unsolved. Either way, Lucy now lives in the same building as Wyatt and they tend to carpool to Mason more often than not.

And Rufus can't explain why, but seeing them walk in together and watching the familiar exchange of car keys as if Wyatt makes a habit of driving Lucy's car for some unidentifiable reason, immediately renews his suspicions about the true nature of their relationship. Nothing overly damning happened in front of him, but it makes him wonder nonetheless. If he's being honest, they just look straight-up married. Not dating, not casually cute or whatever, nope - they skipped that, passed GO, collected the $200, and apparently got hitched without telling anyone.

"Something wrong, man?"

"Uh, no," Rufus scrambles to align his expression with his words, knowing he'll say something stupid if Wyatt detects a lie and pushes harder. "Just need some coffee and then it's away to 1910 we go!"

Lucy gives him a sluggish half smile and pats his arm as they pass him. "At least it's not the 1700s, right?"

"Hell yeah," he agrees without pause, grateful to have escaped further questioning. Plus he's always ready to take a dig at the 1700s.

But then a nanosecond later he realizes what he just saw, and his jaw is nearly on the floor. Lucy...when she touched his arm, her coat had opened up enough to give him a second glimpse of what she's wearing beneath it. He'd seen it when she'd dropped the keys into her jacket pocket, but it didn't register until now.

It was a hoodie. A very orange, very oversized, very _not hers_ hoodie with the words 'Texas Longhorns' splashed across the front of it.

Rufus could count on one hand how many times Lucy has come in looking anything less than polished and professional, although she is usually more relaxed when they prepare to make a jump well after midnight like they are tonight. Still...there's no mistaking that sweatshirt for anything other than Wyatt's. Where else would she get a Longhorns sweatshirt?

It's like they're asking for this now. Are they messing with him and Jiya? Do they _want_ everyone to assume they're...sleeping together? Why else would she have his clothes on in the middle of the night?

And good God they better hope that Lucy changes into her period-appropriate clothing before Jiya sees her, because there's no way -

" _Rufus_!"

As if right on cue, Jiya comes tearing down the corridor, her round eyes gleaming with excitement as she shoves a coffee cup into his hand. "Did you see that? Did you see what she was wearing?"

He wants to tell her to play it cool until they can dissect this turn of events more privately, but c'mon...who can blame her at this point?

* * *

 _ii._

It's been three days since he last saw them, but 1910 was less than kind to the team, so the sweatshirt incident had been far from his mind by the time they had returned to 2017. He's worked like a dog between then and now, trying to create a new backdoor entrance to the Mothership's power grid in the hopes of gaining remote access to the internal computing system. Not so easy to do when you're the one who built it with the intention of making the damn thing impenetrable.

Rufus is elbow-deep in algorithms when Agent Christopher startles him with a hand on his shoulder, giving him instructions to go get changed. They're jumping as soon as the rest of the team arrives.

He spots Lucy shortly after he's entered the wardrobe facility, and he expects to see Wyatt trailing behind her, but a minute passes and it's still just the two of them. She exchanges pleasantries with him as she chooses her outfit, asks about his brother's recent basketball tournament and acts as if nothing is awry, but he can tell she's a bit distracted. Her responses are slower than usual and she keeps glancing over her shoulder as if she's looking for something...or _someone_.

But then she leaves for the women's locker room and he shrugs it off. His mind is still preoccupied with the coding he'd been working on before Emma decided to take another spin through history. It isn't until after Wyatt has joined them and they're all climbing into the Lifeboat that the reasoning behind Lucy's earlier behavior becomes clear.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she hisses before her foot slips momentarily. Wyatt latches onto her arm and drags her the rest of the way into the time machine before she can tumble backwards out of it.

"I'm fine," he says, eyebrows raised at the hand that's still holding onto her arm, as if signaling just how _fine_ he really is.

She frowns and extricates her arm from his grip. "But you - "

"Barely drank anything. And gulped down a black coffee on the way here. I'll be fine."

Rufus looks back at them apprehensively. "Time traveling under the influence tonight, dude?"

"Eh, wouldn't be the first time," he says with a grin, briefly getting tangled in Lucy's long skirt as he ducks around her to sit down, "but seriously, don't you start in on me too. A couple of guys I know from San Diego are in town and I was only out for an hour before I got the call. I'm perfectly capable of saving your asses in...what year are we going to again?"

Lucy's eyes are huge at that question. "We just got briefed. Oh my God, we just got briefed and - "

"Relax," Wyatt all but pushes her into her seat before reaching across to buckle her in, "I'm messing with you. New York, 1790."

Rufus groans for the third time since Agent Christopher first divulged that information.

"Don't worry, Rufus, New York in 1790 is pretty civilized. This won't be like getting dropped near Fort Duquesne in 1754."

"Awesome, can't wait," he responds sarcastically before flipping the last few switches. "I'm still black in case anyone forgot."

Lucy doesn't have a suitable answer for that, nor does he expect her to; it's not really her fault that history sucks, after all.

"Everyone ready?" he glances over his shoulder to see Lucy pinning Wyatt with a wary look. Neither of them respond to his question, but they're both seated and buckled in, so Rufus returns his attention to the controls and then the old pull of nausea is back in full force as the time machine rumbles to life.

Gritting his teeth against the agitation in his stomach, he punches a few additional coordinates into the navigation and then takes a deep breath.

And when the deep breath fails to quell the loathsome effects of time travel, he does what he always does. He pretends to be Anakin Skywalker in _The Phantom Menace_. Everything is better in a podracer, right?

They're landing a few moments later, and while they've certainly had worse landings, this one isn't particularly smooth either. Rufus doesn't have to turn around to know that his teammates felt the additional turbulence. Wyatt's strained groan gives him all the confirmation he needs.

"Sorry, guys," he mutters as he goes through his post-landing checklist. He's met with nothing but unnerving silence. Paranoia quickly settles in and then he's twisting in his seat to make sure he didn't somehow kill them by way of an unpredictable time travel fluke, because that is the type of hellish nightmare he is always anticipating after what he's gone through with Jiya since that trip to '54.

Thankfully they're not dead. Well, Lucy isn't dead. Wyatt, though? He might be in the process of dying.

His upper body is folded over into Lucy's lap, his face pressed into her skirt and completely hidden from view, hands braced on either side of his head as if trying to keep his brain from exploding through the tiny compartment. Lucy is gently running her fingers through his hair as her other hand rubs soothingly across his back, her expression contorted with profound sympathy. She only has eyes for Wyatt, totally engrossed in him and absolutely blind to Rufus' quizzical look. She bends closer, her mouth stopping just short of brushing against his ear. "You okay?"

His returning grunt is rather unclear, but then he mumbles a bit more coherently - "Just give me a second."

Lucy nods in spite the fact that he can't see her, but Rufus reasons that Wyatt can probably _feel_ her nodding since his body is halfway on top of hers. She leans back in her seat but doesn't stop the stop consoling motion of her hand on his back. True to his word, Wyatt collects himself shortly thereafter, his hands falling away from his head and landing on Lucy's knees as he slowly inches upward. He grimaces, freezes for an instant, and Rufus is sure that he's going to blow chunks all over Lucy's historical garb, but the moment passes without incident and then Wyatt is retreating until he is more or less sitting up on his own.

"Son of a _bitch_ ," he curses with a wavering exhale, eyes closed and hands still clamped to Lucy's legs. His face is pale and drawn, giving definition to the phrase 'green around the gills.' Rufus silently vows to add stowaway barf bags beneath each of their seats. He's been through a lot since this all started, found himself in some very outlandish circumstances along the way, but he draws the line at cleaning puke out of the Lifeboat's interior. He has to maintain some level of dignity, doesn't he?

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as he watches Lucy reach across to slide her fingertips over Wyatt's face, her eyes clouded with concern. Wyatt cracks his eyelids open at the touch of her skin against his and leans into her hand with a glazed look. "Fresh air...fresh air will help."

Lucy raises her eyebrows at Rufus and tilts her head toward the door impatiently.

Right. He's the one who can provide the fresh air. Oops.

Rufus rips his regard away from the pair of them and presses the button to lift the door, and then Wyatt gives himself a visible shake and moves to stand. Lucy is immediately at his side even though the notion of _Lucy_ helping _Wyatt_ down from the Lifeboat is laughable. She glances back at Rufus again, and this time he's far more perceptive, squeezing around them and dropping down onto the grass in front of the time machine as requested. Wyatt hunches over and throws an arm over his shoulders before hopping down heavily. His stance is just a little off, but it doesn't stop him from turning to offer a hand to Lucy as she makes her own exit.

Lucy and Wyatt stare at each other for a long, breathless moment once they both have their feet firmly planted on the ground. Her anxious regard is scanning his face for any lingering signs of sickness as she fixes the ugly ass cravat that he's wearing around his neck. Wyatt meets her gaze steadily, seemingly making a wordless plea for her to not press the issue. It's as if he senses the exact moment that he's won their unspoken argument, because he smirks at her victoriously and turns away abruptly, looking slightly surprised to see Rufus standing right next to him.

"Thanks for the help, man," he claps him on the back and takes off on foot like nothing strange has transpired at all.

Lucy follows closely behind Wyatt, and it doesn't escape Rufus' notice that she's avoiding his eyes as she trudges past him. Because that was new, right? He's no stranger to the sight of Wyatt comforting Lucy in times of difficulty, but it's not often that he's had the chance to witness the reverse, and even so...it felt different this time. Like he'd intruded on something private...intimate, even _._

He falls in line behind them after some delay, still a bit mystified, but not at all interested in the prospect of getting left in the dust. Especially not in this godforsaken century.

* * *

 _iii._

Wyatt's on a warpath and Rufus is barely keeping up with him, wheezing and stumbling over every stupid crack in the uneven sidewalk while mentally cursing out Connor Mason for getting him involved in all of this. Rufus had purposely chosen a career that exercised his mind, not his body. He never once imagined that his line of work could ever lead to this. In what universe was he the kind of guy who should have to keep pace with a senior officer from Special Forces?

He finds momentary relief when Wyatt goes stock-still at the end of the block, his head craning from one side to the other as he takes in their surroundings with immense concentration. Then he's off like a shot again, calling backwards as an afterthought - "Down the alley, let's go!"

"I'm..." Rufus sucks in a gulping breath, "...right behind ya!"

Not that it matters. Wyatt isn't slowing down for anything, and Rufus can't really blame him. He's worried too.

The sign they've been searching for hangs at street-level, but he's less than thrilled to see that the neon arrow is pointing downward to a dimly lit basement lounge. Wyatt takes the concrete steps two at a time and charges in without a second thought. Rufus follows as quickly as he can, but he's feeling pretty unsettled about what they're going to find. They're back in the 1970s, once again chasing down information about Nixon because apparently Rittenhouse isn't done trying to screw around with the Watergate-era quite yet, so here they are running through the darkened alleyways of the nation's capital, tampering with the president's actual trial this time instead of the events that preceded it.

And this may not be the city or era that Rufus grew up in, but he knew neighborhoods like this one. It wasn't a good place to lose Lucy, and it _definitely_ wasn't a good place to go wandering around in some hole-in-the-wall dive bar. Especially not at this hour. But some strung-out flower child had told Wyatt she'd been seen here, so dive bar it is.

Rufus doesn't see Lucy at first, and that's only partially due to the haze of smoke that assaults his eyes as soon as he steps over the threshold. Wyatt - naturally one step ahead of him - locates her from across the room, and then Rufus realizes the second reason he's struggled to find her. It's because of the two guys who are draped on either side of her in a corner booth, both of them all up in her personal space, effectively shielding her from view.

Wyatt's back is to him, but even from behind Rufus recognizes the hardened rage that's consuming him as he strides forward. He barely catches his friend's arm, still gasping for air as he tries to get Wyatt's attention. "Go easy, man. You don't want to cause a scene in this place."

He watches as Wyatt sizes up the room with a disbelieving scowl.

"Seriously, Wyatt. Keep a low profile. I guarantee everyone in this room knows those guys and will not be on our side if we stir things up here."

Wyatt shakes him off, but nods grudgingly before walking up to the booth with a counterfeit dose of nonchalance. Rufus stays close and braces himself for potential conflict.

"Lucy?" Wyatt's voice is tight, pained. It actually makes Rufus wince to hear him sound like that.

She doesn't look up, and Rufus is terrified for what that means. The guy on the right - sporting the nastiest paisley shirt Rufus has ever seen - glares up at them. "Lucy is busy, pal. Buzz off."

Wyatt's fist is curled and ready to go, but he never has to throw the first punch. She sees them before the fight can truly begin, and a gigantic smile lights her face as she grabs the tabletop and makes a clumsy attempt at standing up. "Wyatt! Rufus!"

Lucy comes careening out from behind the table, tripping and fumbling all the way, but never once loses that bright smile of hers. The guys behind her are clearly pissed off by how easily they've been dismissed, but they make no move to stop her. Rufus isn't sure they could move even if they wanted to.

"Hey, are you - "

Wyatt's question ends with nothing more than a loud _oof_ as Lucy flings herself at him, her arms going around his neck as she spins them around like a force of nature. It makes Rufus chuckle, especially once he catches the involuntary grin on Wyatt's face. Then she's suddenly propelling herself in his direction, giving Rufus a matching hug that knocks the wind out of him all over again.

"I missed you boys!" She pulls away from Rufus but keeps a hold of his arm. "Where have you been?"

"What do you mean? You're the one who - "

He doesn't finish that sentence because she's taken his hand in both of hers and is staring at it in fascination. "Have you ever had a chocolate truffle?"

His gaze flickers above her head to gauge Wyatt's reaction to this. He shrugs, making a motion with his hand like she's had too much to drink.

"Uh...yeah. Why?"

"Peppermint dark truffles. Like your skin. They're my favorite." She flinches backward then, her pupils expanding as she examines him. "Do you feel that? Do you feel your skin moving? Can you see it too? _Wow_."

Rufus already suspected it, but now he knows for sure. She's not drunk. She's on a trip. A good trip at the moment, but a trip nonetheless.

"Nah, I don't see it. But that's probably because you're the living embodiment of a Beatles song and I'm stone cold sober."

Her head tips back as she laughs at him, and then the rest of her tips back too. Wyatt grabs her from behind, keeping her upright with an alarmed look as she reels with more giggles. "You're so funny, Rufus. Have I told you lately how funny I think you are?"

"Not lately, no, but it never hurts to hear it again." He arches a brow at Wyatt, signaling that they should go. Wyatt makes a point of blatantly ignoring him, anger and confusion mingling across his features as he turns Lucy around so that she's facing him.

"Who did this to you, Lucy? Did those guys over there give you something?"

She shakes her head, mumbles something Rufus doesn't quite catch, and then begins to trace a fingernail along the garish colors that decorate Wyatt's striped polyester shirt.

He tries again, his head dipping closer to hers. "Come on, Lucy. What happened in here? Did anyone try to hurt you?"

"Hurt? Who's hurt? I feel _good_." Her finger slides lower over his abdomen and Wyatt shivers away from her, capturing her hand with a sigh. He meets Rufus' gaze and nods his defeat.

"Alright, let's get out of here," he says, still holding onto Lucy's hand as he takes a step toward the exit.

She digs her heels in and shakes her head so hard that Rufus worries about the likelihood of permanent damage. "We can't go that way."

"Why not?" Wyatt asks with saintly patience.

Lucy casts a tentative look at Rufus then crooks her finger toward him so that he moves closer. Her voice is low and fragile when she answers. "They'll know. We can't let them know."

Rufus frowns. "Who, Lucy?"

"Shhhh...don't say my name. They'll hear you." She pokes at his chest pocket and then looks at him like he's Satan incarnate.

"The...recordings? Is that what this is about?"

Her hand flies up to her mouth. "Dammit, Rufus, I told you to _shhhh_."

"Lucy, it's okay, Emma already jumped back to the present. She won't hear us." Wyatt tugs on her elbow, pulling her toward the door once more. "And Rufus stopped recording us a long time ago. You know that."

"They can always hear us. They want me to join them. I'm a princess, okay? A Rittenhouse princess."

She's allowing Wyatt to direct her out of the seedy little dump now, so neither he nor Rufus have the heart to stop her rambling at this point. The subject thankfully shifts away from Rittenhouse and toward other real-life princesses, and before they know it, Lucy is making a list of her top ten favorite historical princess of all time as they maneuver her up the stairs and onto the sidewalk.

"Princess Diana is great and all, but kinda overrated. I mean...have you heard of Isabella, the She-Wolf of France? Now _that's_ a badass princess."

Rufus scoffs as they spill out into a busier street and come to a stop at the corner, waiting for the light to change. "Only Lucy Preston could deliver an academic dissertation while zonked out on acid."

Wyatt looks at him sharply. "You're sure? That it's LSD...?"

"Pretty sure."

"How do you - _shit_ , Lucy!"

Wyatt bolts into the intersection and yanks Lucy out of the path of oncoming traffic, several horns blaring around them as he hauls her back to the safety of the sidewalk. "What the hell were you thinking?"

She smiles at him, serene in the wake of his panic. "The headlights were rainbows. It's so pretty."

"Uh huh, fabulous," he retorts with a grimace. He turns his head toward Rufus, his eyes still frantic with the leftover adrenaline of such a close call. "I'll hold her hand on this side. You do that same on your side, okay?"

"Got it. Can't let the princess turn into a hood ornament. They'd really be pissed at us then."

Lucy laughs loudly and puts her head on Rufus' shoulder. He doesn't miss the sidelong glance from Wyatt at that little action.

"Listen, Rufus, I won't tell Jiya that you held my hand. Promise."

He chuckles and gives her hand a squeeze. "I think she'd understand, Lucy. It's okay."

She hums in response. "Jiya is pretty cool."

"Yep, I think so too."

"Was she mad when she found out we kissed that one time?"

Rufus gawks down at her - "What?"

" _What_?!"

The second 'what' comes from Wyatt, and Rufus is suddenly afraid to even glance in his direction after hearing the fury that's been packed into that one word.

Lucy turns the tables on them yet again when she pauses, scrunches her brow, and then starts over. "No, no wait. We didn't..." her eyes dart to her other side, settling on Wyatt instead. "No, that was you. Remember, Wyatt? Remember that kiss?"

Now it's Rufus' turn to say it again, and he doesn't miss his cue. "Wait, _what_?"

Wyatt stiffens, his eyes glued to the crosswalk in front of them. "Um, yeah. We were undercover."

"Right," Lucy confirms with a vigorous nod. "Undercover kissing. Very clever."

Rufus can't stop staring at the both of them. "When? Which jump?"

"Arkansas," Wyatt replies slowly, his jaw still working even when he wasn't speaking, "Bonnie and Clyde."

It comes to him in a flash, the hours they'd spent apart after the shootout while Rufus had been detained, the heaviness in the air as they made their way home the next morning...

"They were amazing, fascinating really. You shoulda been there, Rufus."

"Yeah, sounds like a hell of a time, Lucy," he says, not even trying to subdue his grin as he studies the tension in Wyatt's profile.

It's only a second later that Wyatt releases a pent-up huffing noise and then takes a step away from them, raising his free hand to wave down a cab. "Makes more sense to catch a ride back to the edge of town. She's in no condition to walk the whole way."

Rufus has to agree, although it's borderline hilarious to witness Wyatt trying to change the topic so artlessly.

The taxi ride proves to be interesting in its own right. Lucy is once again mesmerized by the pattern of Wyatt's shirt, and he lets her ooh and ahh over it even though it's obviously bugging him to have her hovering over him with her hands all over his chest. The upside is that it keeps her busy and mostly quiet, which Rufus figures is an acceptable trade-off for Wyatt. But once they pay the driver and set off on foot to cover the rest of the distance, things escalate quickly. Lucy slings her arms low around Wyatt's waist and starts in on the Arkansas conversation with renewed enthusiasm.

"Bonnie and Clyde were so in love. So, so in love. We must have been pretty convincing if they bought it, don't ya think?"

She doesn't wait for anyone to confirm her assumption, just goes on with no regard for the look of mortification on Wyatt's face. "And Wyatt did a great job. He said he wouldn't put on a show for them, but then he's the one who initiates this kiss, and it was a _really good_ kiss. Like so good that I almost bought it too. You shoulda been an actor, Wyatt. Like in a Nicholas Sparks movie or something. Did you ever think about being an actor?"

Rufus is practically bursting at the seams, torn between needing to laugh his head off and also wanting to interrogate Wyatt until he finally confesses how bad he has it for Lucy, but ultimately feeling too intimidated by the threatening glare that Wyatt keeps sending his way to act on either of those impulses. Lucy is dawdling now, stopping every few feet to pluck random blades of grass out of the ground, then wrapping herself around Wyatt each time he tries to prod her forward. She fusses at him for trying to rush her, and apparently that's the exact opening Wyatt needs.

He swings his eyes over to Rufus and does his best to mask his frustration. "Why don't you go ahead of us and get the Lifeboat ready for takeoff? We're not far now and I'd like to get her to the medics as soon as possible...just in case."

"Uh, okay," Rufus glances at Lucy, who is now recounting the story of Bonnie and Clyde to a nearby pigeon. "You sure you can deal with this on your own?"

"Yeah, I'll handle it."

There's something uncompromising in Wyatt's appearance now, like he's been given new orders and won't quit until he's accomplished the task at hand. Rufus is dying to know what exactly he has up his sleeve, but there's no good excuse to stall at this point. Wyatt's right, after all. The time machine is just on the other side of these trees and Lucy should see someone sooner rather than later on the off-chance that she's ingested a more menacing cocktail of drugs than anticipated.

"Alright, see you guys in a minute."

He hears Lucy whining as he walks away, begging Rufus to come back so she can introduce him to the pigeon, but then Wyatt says something in a low voice and it instantly quiets her protests. Rufus steals one last look backward into the fading twilight before disappearing into the small thicket, and he can't help but smile at what he sees behind him. Wyatt's arms are coiled tightly around Lucy, and her hands are on his shoulders as she listens intently to whatever it is that he's telling her. Rufus turns away with a note of reluctance, ignoring the impulse to stick it out and see what happens next. Jiya would have murdered him for not getting the full scoop, but what she doesn't know can't hurt her.

It only takes him a few minutes to prep the Lifeboat but his teammates are still absent, and just when Rufus is really starting to fret over their whereabouts, he hears an unceremonious thump against the frame of the machine and then Wyatt's voice rings out smoothly from below. "Incoming!"

He hoists Lucy up and over the entrance. She giggles and grabs the edge of her seat to steady herself. "Rufus! Welcome back!"

He doesn't bother to correct her. Wyatt lifts himself up next, and Rufus is mildly surprised to see a lazy smirk adorning his face. "Ready to go?

"Yep," he answers, his suspicion mounting when he observes the happily sated look that Lucy gives Wyatt as she flops into her chair. "We're all set. Just needed the passengers."

Wyatt grins down at Lucy for several seconds before sitting across from her and arranging the straps of the seat belt into place around her. Rufus looks back and forth between them, in awe of the shamelessly sappy expressions on both of their faces.

His mouth is moving before he can register the pointed nature of his own words.

"You do know that there's a good chance she'll remember whatever it is you just said - or _did_ \- out there, right? She might be sketchy on the details at first, but more than likely, it will come back to her eventually."

Wyatt shrugs cryptically, indifferent to the warning. "Fine by me."

Rufus doesn't comment on that. He's speechless, actually. So he turns back to the control panel and closes the hatch, almost missing Wyatt's bewildered question.

"How do you know so much about acid trips anyway?"

"You have your secrets. Let me have mine."

The Lifeboat quakes and shudders then, cutting off any further conversation as they begin the journey to the present. Lucy curses like a sailor before breaking into a very ironic rendition of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

For the time ever, Rufus actually finds himself laughing instead of gagging on their way back to 2017.

* * *

 _iv._

"God, this sucks," Rufus mutters to no one in particular, the material of his ancient tux scratching against his wrists as he loads his tray with more flutes of champagne.

"Keep it down, Rufus."

He jerks his head up to see Wyatt at his side, and a bit of guilt creeps in at his friend's admonishing look.

"Sorry, but it's true. Why do you guys get to have all the fun? This is 1941. Hattie McDaniel just won an Oscar like what, two years ago!? Why am I waiting tables at a party I could actually be attending?"

Wyatt shakes his head and throws his hands up, his eyes rounded. "Who's having fun? You think I _like_ hobnobbing with a room full of phony Hollywood elitists? You know where I stand on this...feels like a giant waste of time to me."

A group of cackling women choose that moment to emerge from the nearby ladies room, and Rufus slips into his role, wordlessly offering the tray of champagne. A few of them accept, but no one spares him a glance. Their eyes are all pinned to Wyatt, blushing and giggling not-so-subtly in his direction before dissolving into the ballroom with the rest of the partygoers.

Rufus waits until he's sure no one is paying them any mind before turning back to him with a scoff. "Yeah, bro, I can see where this would really be a downer for you. Not fun at all."

Wyatt rolls his eyes dismissively. "Whatever. You heard what Lucy said. If this shindig is hosted by someone from Rittenhouse, then it's fair to assume that they're racist bigots who would not react well if we crashed their party with you in tow."

"Yeah, well if this mission takes a turn for the worse and we get a chance to open fire on any of these racist bigots, please let me have a gun. I've earned it."

It's meant to be a joke. Rufus may be feeling a little crabby at the moment, but he still prefers to leave the weapons to Wyatt whenever possible. At this point he knows he's capable of defending himself when necessary, but capable and comfortable are not quite the same thing.

Wyatt doesn't respond. Not a smirk or a chuckle, not a witty retort, nothing.

Rufus stares at him in confusion, but he's a million miles away, looking sort of stupid with his eyes dazed and mouth slightly ajar.

And when Rufus slants his head sideways to find whatever it is that has Wyatt so spellbound, the answer is comically undeniable.

It's Lucy. Of course it's Lucy. He should have seen that one coming.

To Wyatt's credit, neither of them had gotten a good look at Lucy before the party. Attending this event had been a last minute decision, and they'd been forced to split up for an hour to prepare accordingly. Up until this point, her new dress has mostly been concealed by some wrap-scarf thing that she'd bought along the way. The wrap is gone now, and if Rufus wasn't happily dating the best girl ever, he would probably be making the same fish-out-of-water expression as Wyatt.

She's partially turned away from them, absolutely radiant in a shimmering gold gown that fits her like a second skin, her coiffed hair swept to one side to reveal the smooth expanse of her mostly bare back. They've seen her outfitted for dozens of differing time periods by now, but this look definitely stands out above the rest. If he didn't know any better, Rufus would have guessed that the dress had been sculpted specifically for her.

She swivels around to avoid a passing waiter and catches sight of them through the crowd. Rufus offers a wave, then belatedly thinks better of it. He's just the hired help, after all.

"Wyatt...dude...she's coming over here."

"Uh huh."

Rufus snickers at his paralyzed look. "So you should probably stop ogling Lucy before she catches you..?"

"What?" he snaps out of it then, frowning at Rufus like a little boy with his hand in the cookie jar. "I wasn't - "

"Wasn't what?"

She's there already, somehow making record time across the overflowing ballroom, her red lips fluttering upward as she comes to a stop in front of them.

"Wasn't doing his damn job," Rufus supplies with a wicked grin, "too many airheaded actresses throwing themselves at him tonight."

Now both Lucy and Wyatt are frowning, and Rufus feels triumphant at the sight. He's about 99% sure that they made out last week while Lucy was flying high in the 70s, but he needs more evidence to support his hypothesis, so he decides to keep going while he's ahead. He's doing it for science.

And ultimately it's for their own good too, right?

"So here's a solution - go out there together and pretend to be here for the Big Band music. Blend in with the other dancers and keep an eye out for you-know-who while I work this end of the room. God knows I'd love to be showing off my moves if I had the chance."

Wyatt narrows his eyes at Rufus, but then takes the suggestion and offers his arm to Lucy. She accepts it without objection, although Rufus thinks he detects a hint of nervousness in her dark eyes.

When Rufus catches a glimpse of them a few minutes later, he is struck by how natural they look together, how _right_ it is to see them swirling together in the midst of a hundred other couples. Wyatt's hand is fused to her exposed back and she's gazing up at him with a charming little smile. He leans closer, whispers something in her ear, and Lucy laughs in response before her hand descends from his shoulder to adjust his pocket square.

And is he imagining it, or are they _always_ doing that - mindlessly touching each other, hands flitting over jackets and sleeves and collars, finding the most random excuses to make physical contact at any given moment?

He's so intent on watching the two of them dance together that he nearly misses the flash of red hair in his peripheral vision, but Wyatt's posture abruptly shifts and Rufus knows that he sees her too.

"Dammit, Emma," Rufus grumbles as he abandons his tray and darts through the throng of revelers, "I was _this close_ to seeing it for real this time."

* * *

 _v._

They are off for nearly two full weeks this time. Wyatt successfully took out two of Emma's guys in '41 and even managed to get a shot off on her too, but he maintains all along that it probably wasn't fatal. They wait in radio silence, the whole extended team holding their collective breaths as Jiya and Rufus work to locate the Mothership in the meantime.

Rufus sees them a few times in those two weeks, mostly for social reasons instead of work-related ones, although they do occasionally show up at Mason Industries in the hopes that they can do something useful. Neither of them like having this much downtime, especially not Wyatt who is starting to look a bit stir crazy every time Rufus encounters him.

The call finally comes in, tearing him out of a dead sleep right before dawn on a Wednesday morning, and then they're officially being briefed by Agent Christopher for the first time in 13 days. Rufus feels oddly gratified at the prospect of going out in the Lifeboat again...like he's almost too used to this by now, feels adrift without it, and that's so strange that he actually has a full-on freak out session for a solid five minutes.

He's too busy wigging out to notice Lucy glancing worriedly at the back of Wyatt's head when Agent Christopher announces the location of the jump. They're on their way to Saltillo, Mexico, just a few miles north of the impending Battle of Buena Vista.

Lucy rattles off a bunch of information regarding the Mexican-American War as they search for the appropriate clothing for 1847, and Rufus thinks there's something off with both Wyatt and Lucy, but he can't get a gauge as to what it could be. They seem fine with each other - maintaining eye contact, making small talk, giving each other the customary once-over when they reappear in their costumes, and so on - but there is an underlying strain to all of it.

Once they land on Mexican soil, all thoughts of their earlier interactions immediately leave Rufus' head. They're in a war zone and there's no time to evaluate the emotions of his teammates or come up with any harebrained schemes to shove them together here. His only focus is keeping his head down and staying alive.

The day leaves him feeling gritty and exhausted, and since they're still not sure what Emma is up to, they're stuck spending the night in a part of town that's occupied by American forces. Rufus crashes quickly, not even bothering to complain about the shabby furnishings or lumpy mattress. He just wipes a layer of sweat and dust off his forehead and gratefully lets sleep wash over him.

He snaps awake hours later, but the room is pitch black and motionless, giving no indication as to why he woke up. He squints into the darkness and sees that the other bed - the one Wyatt had designated as Lucy's when they first arrived - is empty. The sheets are disrupted as if someone had been there, but Rufus can't remember if he ever saw her coming or going.

The fact remains that it is empty now, and his heart races at the possibilities of why she isn't there where she belongs. He pushes himself out of his bed and staggers to the tiny adjoining room, hoping to find her out there with Wyatt instead.

He is simultaneously relieved and stunned at what meets him as he rounds the corner. There's one miserable piece of furniture in this room, basically the rudimentary 1847-version of a futon but without the reclining capabilities, and somehow both Lucy and Wyatt are crammed onto it, blissfully tangled together and out cold. Wyatt is flat on his back and snoring lightly with one hand hanging off the edge of their makeshift bed and the other balled up in the fabric of her blouse. Lucy's arms circle his neck, her head lodged beneath his chin, the rest of her body wedged sideways between him and the back of the narrow settee. Their legs - snarled into a tidy little web - dangle over the end of it, both of them being too tall to rest comfortably on something so inadequately sized.

Rufus stands there, frowning and perplexed, for long enough to realize that he's acting like a total creeper. Part of him wants to wake them up and tell them to come back to the bedroom to share the mattress that was supposed to be Lucy's, because surely they aren't out here just to try to hide from him, are they? The real beds are also admittedly too small for sharing, but nothing could be as bad as what they're currently sleeping on. He honestly can't work it out in his head, because of all the things he's seen already, the notion of them sharing a bed is really not overly outrageous. So why didn't they choose the better of the two options?

Wyatt lets out a grunt and begins to squirm from beneath Lucy, causing Rufus to freeze in place. Neither of them opens their eyes right away, so Rufus tiptoes backwards, seeking shelter in the doorway between the two rooms. Wyatt makes another strangled noise, and Lucy instinctively rubs his shoulder in response.

"It's okay, Wyatt," she whispers in a groggy voice, "go back to sleep."

Rufus can't be sure - because he's not _that_ much of a weirdo so he doesn't stick around to see what happens next - but it seems like the still-unconscious Wyatt actually listens to her. He doesn't hear either of them make another sound once he's returned to his own bed, and then his eyes slide shut before he can ponder it further.

* * *

 _vi._

They're fighting. They've been fighting for at least twenty minutes, and up until now Rufus has been content to stay far away from the eye of the storm.

The team returned from Mexico four days ago, and Rufus hasn't seen either of them until today. Lucy's been attending mandatory psych evaluations ever since she'd learned of her mom's involvement in Rittenhouse, and her weekly session started a little more than an hour ago. From what Rufus can gather, this is a pretty standard practice for anyone who's been through some heavy stuff and is involved in government work or public service. At least that's what he's seen on Law & Order. It had been Agent Christopher's one stipulation when Lucy broke the news to the team, and as much as she claims to dread it, Rufus thinks it's helping. He feels bad for her, but he's thankful that Homeland Security is paying attention and doing what they can to take care of her. He doesn't want to see her short-circuiting after everything she's been through in the last few months, even if that's exactly what Rufus would be doing if he was in her place.

Wyatt usually tags along when she has her appointments, choosing to hang out with Rufus and Jiya and pretending to understand whatever it is they're working on while he waits for Lucy. The pair of them arrive together, split up for an hour, and then they all go out for lunch afterwards. Jiya privately refers to this routine as their standing double date, and Rufus never contradicts her on the matter. It's a fairly accurate description.

Today was supposed to be no different, but the crap hit the fan when Agent Christopher was the one to appear at the end of the hour, her expression eerily neutral when she asked Wyatt to join her for a moment. At first Rufus had been concerned that something was wrong with Lucy, and he could see the same fear written all over Wyatt's face too.

That concern went out the window when Rufus had spotted Lucy from across the room shortly thereafter, her fingers fiddling anxiously with the chain of her locket as she stared up at the conference room where Wyatt had been holed up with Agent Christopher.

The real fireworks had begun once Wyatt was dismissed from his impromptu meeting. It's weird seeing them like this; they used to butt heads all the time in the early days, and still occasionally disagree, but there is never any bite to it now. They're both passionate, stubborn people. It's to be expected from time to time. And it's never personal, they just don't always see eye to eye on strategies and game plans while out in the field.

At least it _was_ never personal. Even from a distance, Rufus knows that this one isn't the same. They look like a pair of schizophrenic magnets. One minute they're in each other's faces, making fierce arguments and counterarguments, and then they're repelling, shrinking back into opposite corners as if they've had enough...then the cycle repeats.

Rufus takes this as a good sign. If neither of them are willing to walk out on the other, then they'll be fine, right?

The argument has gradually migrated across the open area of Mason's facility, and then they're finally gone, presumably off to the parking lot so they can work it out without half of the techs pretending not to watch while the other half openly stares on without remorse.

"So...no lunch today, huh?"

Rufus is disappointed too. He shrugs at Jiya and then turns back to his laptop. They'll just have to order takeout instead.

But then he sees Wyatt's car keys on the table next to his computer, and he grabs them without a second thought, scurrying off to deliver them to their proper owner before one of them has to come back and face the spectators once more.

Unfortunately, they haven't made it as far as Rufus had hoped. They're at the bottom of the staircase, just steps away from the exit, but they aren't going anywhere fast. Lucy's voice rises higher and higher, splintering with tension as Rufus comes to a halt above them, totally unnoticed.

"I said I'm sorry, Wyatt! I'm _sorry_ , but I didn't think - "

"Trust me, I know - you definitely didn't think. You weren't thinking at all."

His tone is dangerously quiet, stilted with anger. Rufus recoils at the sound of Lucy's watery sniffle.

"It's supposed to be confidential," she returns tersely, "what I say to her is supposed to stay between us, so how could - "

"I already told you, that's never how it works," he bites back, "it's always confidential until you say something that could compromise the mission."

She swipes irritably at her tears. "Let me talk to Agent Christopher. I'll tell her - "

"No way, you've said enough already. I can fight my own battles, Lucy."

There's a finality in his words that causes Lucy - and Rufus from above them - to flinch.

"You know what?" she asks, her voice harder this time. "I'm not sorry. _That_ \- that whole bullheaded 'I can fight my own battles' thing you do - that's the reason I can't really regret this. You need - "

"No," he interrupts between gritted teeth, "I've done this already. I've dealt with it. You think the military looks the other way with this shit? They don't."

"Then why is it still happening, Wyatt? You weren't okay at the Alamo and you weren't much better at Buena Vista. You can't lie to me, I saw it both times. I saw how it messes you up and I won't ignore it anymore."

Rufus barely contains his gasp of understanding. That night in Mexico...something had been wrong with Wyatt? Is that why Lucy had left her bed?

"It's not up to you to fix it. I signed up for this, and I can handle it."

She snorts at that, tosses her hands up in the air. "Right, because there's nothing you can't do yourself. PTSD is no match for Wyatt Logan. He can handle it."

He shakes his head and steps closer with a cruel smile. "Yeah, real funny, Lucy. Come back to me in a few days after they kick me off this team and let me know if you regret opening your big mouth then. Maybe the new guy will have the mental stability to actually earn your trust since I've apparently failed in that department."

Her wounded look is so piercing that it inflicts a real physical pain to Rufus' heart.

"You know I trust you," she whispers tearfully, "but I care about you - the real _you_ , the person and not just the soldier...I didn't mean to hurt you, Wyatt, but if this is what it takes to make sure that you're going to be okay, then I can live with the consequences, whatever they may be. I care too much to let you act like this doesn't matter."

There's a long pause then, and Rufus is sure that Wyatt is going to relent this time. She put herself on the line with that one, and surely he can't dismiss the weight of what she's just said.

But then his face - which had softened for maybe a nanosecond - becomes icy all over again as he backs away from her. "Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you care too damn much."

Lucy looks like she's been slapped. Her mouth wobbles and her hands are trembling at her sides.

"Okay," she says eventually, after a silence that feels like it might last forever and ever, "if that's really how you feel, then okay...that's all I needed to know."

Rufus watches as she straightens with unbelievable poise and takes three long strides to the exit. She pushes her way through the door, lets it fall shut behind her without a glance backward. Then he turns expectantly toward Wyatt, because there's not a chance in hell that he's actually going to let her go like that. It isn't possible.

Seconds pass, stretch on into at least one full minute, and Rufus feels frantic as time keeps marching on while Wyatt stands there like a damn statue, his fists clenched and feet unmoving.

When he finally breaks himself loose from the trance, it's not to follow after Lucy. He shuffles toward the stairs instead, and then startles when his eyes land on Rufus at the top of the landing.

"Wyatt... I - "

"God, just what I needed," he says with a sneer, "because it's not enough to make a jackass of myself in front of one person. No, I have to do it with an audience. Isn't that just fan-freaking-tastic."

Rufus descends warily, trying his best to look somewhat imposing. The last thing he wants is for Wyatt to push past him and make a hasty retreat. "You're going after her, right?"

He exhales slowly before shaking his head. "No. It's better this way."

"What's that supposed to mean? And are they really going to replace you?"

"I don't know, Rufus..." he scrubs a hand roughly over his face. "Probably not, but they won't decide for sure until after I meet with someone for an eval. Even if they don't remove me, this was still inevitable."

" _This_? As in you and Lucy..?" Rufus lets the question dangle, unsure of what Wyatt is trying to say and not interested in overstepping his bounds.

Wyatt shrugs as if it's no big deal, but Rufus can see the agony scribbled all over his face. "She deserves better than this, man. Better than me. I had my chance with Jess and I blew it. She deserves more than that."

"You're wrong."

Wyatt lifts his gaze, clearly caught off guard by the determination in his words. Rufus continues, refusing to take the easy way out before he can lose his nerve. "Lucy is one the greatest friends I've ever had. It feels crazy to say that for all the longer I've known her, but it's true. I hardly have to explain that to you, though. You met her the same night I did and you're in love with her, so - "

"I'm not - "

"Spare me, dude. I spend way too much time with you guys to be wrong about this, so drop the bullshit."

Wyatt shifts his weight from one foot to the other, but doesn't try to leave or argue.

Rufus sighs, choosing his words carefully. "Like I was saying, Lucy is a great person. She means a lot to me. Both of you do. And if I could pick out anyone for her, match her up with the best person I could find, I would choose you."

"But - "

"Nope, I'm not finished," Rufus cuts back in with a smile, "because this is the important part, okay? You're so worked up about what Lucy deserves, but it's pretty simple from where I'm standing. She deserves someone who will love her and care for her as much as she loves and cares for everyone around her. She deserves the kind of guy who will be there for her no matter what. Sounds a lot like you, doesn't it?"

Wyatt opens his mouth to say something, but Rufus still isn't done, so he presses on.

"And since she'd kill me for not mentioning this, I also have to say that she deserves to be with someone who will let her choose what she can and cannot deal with...so if she's willing to fall in love with your difficult ass, then you have to respect that choice."

That last part brings a reluctant smile to Wyatt's face. "You would definitely get bonus points for that one."

"Well make sure to mention it to her once you're done groveling for her forgiveness, okay?"

Wyatt hesitates for a moment, pinches the bridge of his nose with another slow exhale, then suddenly springs into action. He's halfway out the door before he realizes he doesn't have his keys, turning back and catching them in midair once Rufus chucks them in his direction.

Wyatt looks over his shoulder for an instant before he runs out into the awaiting sunshine. "Thanks, Rufus."

"You bet. Anything for the good of the Time Team."

He disappears with a grin, and Rufus collapses onto the nearest step with a contented laugh. If he ever needs a break from engineering, he could probably get a gig as the next Montel Williams.

* * *

 _vii._

Something still isn't right, and Rufus is willing to bet that Montel Williams never worked with two more difficult people in his career.

They get the call at two in the morning, just 14 hours after Rufus had convinced Wyatt to get off his ass and chase after Lucy. The two of them should have arrived at Mason Industries looking cheerful, giddy, basically stupid happy. And Rufus expects some gratitude too. He has a lot invested into this relationship and he's not too proud to admit it, so he's more than a little disappointed at the lack of payoff.

Lucy is distant, strangely quiet and avoiding eye contact with everyone, Wyatt included.

And speaking of Wyatt, his behavior is even weirder. He brazenly stares at Lucy for the entire briefing. _Stares_ at her. Barely blinking, not really responding to a thing Agent Christopher says, mouth quirked to one side, _staring_. He looks like a frickin' smirking zombie.

Frankly, Rufus is terrified that his fate in 1923 rests on their performance. Normally there's no else he'd rather go with, but that's not the case at the moment. They're going to get him killed in a hot minute.

Wyatt seems to wake up once they land in Munich, and then Lucy starts rambling about Hitler's failed coup and what could happen if Rittenhouse helps him to succeed this time around, and for a few hours Rufus forgets that he ever doubted them.

They get into one ugly brawl with Emma and her thugs, somehow manage to piss off a group of locals for no reason at all, and also bumble their way through a face-to-face encounter with Adolf Hitler - an experience Rufus really could have done without, if anyone's asking - and for all of that, Lucy is still certain that something bad is going to the next day unless they find a way to interfere again. Rufus is not thrilled at the prospect of staying the night, but there's a bar across the street from their rented room and he could really go for a round of German beer, so he stifles his complaints and announces that he's getting a drink if anyone wants to come with him. He anticipates a 'hell yes' from Wyatt, who would then proceed to talk Lucy into knocking one back too, but neither of them really jumps on the idea. Wyatt says he isn't feeling great, then unconvincingly offers to join Rufus in a little while once he has a chance to recover. Rufus has never heard Wyatt turn down a drink before, but the poor guy did take some nasty hits when he went up against Emma's guys, so he supposes it makes sense.

He looks to Lucy next, but she declines with a yawn. She just wants a good night's sleep and tells him to go have fun on her behalf.

So off he goes, all alone.

In hindsight, it's painfully obvious. So damn obvious that he can't believe he missed it.

Rufus trudges back across the street much earlier than planned, because it's boring to drink by himself and he's not liking the way the barkeep is looking at him anyway. He should have known better than to venture too far without his white counterparts, but Lucy hadn't told him it was a bad idea so he figured it would be fine. Apparently that was a misguided assumption, so after swallowing down his first stein of beer, he's decided to call it a night.

He walks straight into the room without knocking, because since when is knocking ever necessary? Lucy doesn't have another set of clothes to change into, so there's really nothing he needs to avoid seeing, right?

Wrong.

Very wrong.

He yelps, throws his hands over his eyes, and promptly runs into a wall as he tries to remove himself from the situation. It's too late of course. His retinas have already been burned by the sight, and his brain replays it over and over again without his permission.

Lucy. Lucy straddling Wyatt. Lucy - with no shirt on - straddling Wyatt against the headboard. And oh God, Wyatt - also shirtless - moaning her name with his hands pushing her skirt up around her waist.

He's never going to un-see this.

"Rufus, you can open your eyes now, man."

"No," he shakes his head blindly in what he thinks is their direction. "I can't, I really can't."

Wyatt chuckles at him and says it again more forcefully. "Open your eyes. We're all decent over here."

"Oh sure, _now_ everyone is decent..."

"We're sorry," Wyatt says in a voice that sounds anything but sorry.

Lucy chimes in then, and her words sound far more contrite than his. "Really, Rufus, I'm _so_ sorry."

Her voice is kind of muffled, and that piques his curiosity, so he steals a glimpse at the bed from between two of his fingers. Wyatt is still not wearing a shirt, but Lucy appears to be fully clothed again, although it's hard to really tell since she's hugging an entire pillow to her body just so she can hide her face from him. Wyatt has his arm wrapped around her shoulders so that she's propped up against his side, and he's sporting the world's widest grin as he looks down at her.

Rufus is still struggling to form a single thought, but he scrapes together enough of a sentence to get his point across - "How...you guys were acting so...uh, awkward earlier today...so how..?"

Surprisingly enough, Lucy is the first one to address that question from behind the cover of the pillow. "No, _I_ was acting awkward earlier today. Wyatt was too busy acting like a smug asshole to be awkward."

Wyatt smirks and raises a shoulder as if he can't deny the accuracy of her statement. "Lucy didn't want everyone talking about us when we got there, so she thought it would be best if we tried to fly under the radar for now. I told her that everyone was _already_ talking about us - " he looks at Rufus pointedly for a moment - "and that it didn't matter what we did since you guys all think we've been doing it this whole time. She didn't like that answer for some reason."

Rufus fumbles for a second, but then decides it's not worth refuting. "You...you knew we were talking about..."

"C'mon, Rufus," he says with a laugh, "you and Jiya are hardly subtle."

"Uh...sorry?"

Wyatt waves off the apology before wrangling the pillow away from Lucy's face. "Don't worry about it. Apparently we haven't been very subtle either, so it's all fair game."

"Wait so..." Rufus glances back and forth between the two of them, taking in Lucy's flushed expression and Wyatt's amused grin. "Is this new or isn't it?"

"It's new," Lucy answers, her eyes bright as she bats Wyatt's hand away from her side. "Thanks, by the way. Wyatt told me what you said yesterday."

"Sure." Rufus nods blankly until a golden idea hits him. "You guys really want to show me how much you appreciate it?"

Wyatt frowns at him, his head tilting sideways. "What do you want?"

"My own room. Someone go downstairs and don't come back until they find us another bed somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else."

"Done deal." Wyatt is up and out of the room so fast that he's nothing more than a blur as he passes Rufus and flies through the doorway.

Rufus gazes at anything but Lucy as he mumbles under his breath - "Jiya is going to lose her mind when she hears about this..."

Lucy groans in response before flopping backward to hide her reddening face in the pillow again, staying in that exact position until Rufus is leaving the room again as Wyatt all but slams the door behind him on his way out.

And then Rufus hears the squeak of bed springs from the other side of the door and thinks to himself that maybe he still has a future as the next Montel Williams after all.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I'm here to give the people (and myself tbh) what they want - the outtakes of part 1 from Wyatt's POV! Sorry that this took so long & probably doesn't even make sense unless you revisit chapter 1 or have the memory of an elephant. I tried to make it easier by numbering all the sections in both chapters for quicker reference..? Hope that helps :) _

_warning : you may want to go get some water and a snack since this stupid thing is almost as long as the original_

* * *

 _i._

The phone rattles him awake in an instant and Wyatt answers it on the first ring, adrenaline coursing through him just as it always does when he's jolted out of a dead sleep. He's already had an entire conversation with Agent Christopher and is hanging up by the time Lucy begins to stir, so he steals one long look down at her sleep-softened face while he still can before he's forced to downplay the way his heart beats faster at her nearness.

They've fallen asleep on each other for the third time this week, and he can't bring himself to admit that it's turning into a bad habit. There has to be a loophole somewhere that allows for platonic friends to repeatedly curl up beside each other on the couch and pass out to the backdrop of late night television, right? No big deal.

Not that he _really_ thinks of Lucy as a platonic friend, but those are the terms for now. Those illusive 'possibilities' temporarily went out the window when her life got shot to hell about a month ago. With everything else that she's processing regarding her mom and Rittenhouse - along with the fact that they've now been redoubling their efforts to chase Emma through time - he won't do anything to rock the boat any further until he's sure that she's ready for more. It seems as if stability is the best thing that he can offer her for the time being, and they're probably both better off that way anyhow. God knows he would most likely make a mess of anything else if they moved too quickly toward something more significant.

"Mmm..." her hand slides across his chest as she tries to find her voice, "we're jumping?"

"Yep. I told her we're on our way."

Lucy's eyes are still closed as she lifts her head off of his shoulder and smooths her hair down from where it's been crushed against his shirt. He stands and pulls her to her feet, suppressing a laugh at her bleary-eyed look of annoyance. She does not function well with these middle-of-the-night disruptions. Of all the new things he's learned about her in the last few weeks, this one really came as no surprise, but it still amuses him to witness it firsthand. She's a woman of order and routine; an early riser. She somehow does better on no sleep than she does on minimal sleep, and her childlike crankiness on a night like tonight entertains him more than it should.

"It's my turn to drive."

Wyatt does a double take at that. Her eyelids are barely open in the faint light of the glowing TV screen, and he values his own life - and _definitely_ hers, for that matter - enough to realize that he cannot allow her to take her turn tonight. "Lucy..."

She stretches her arms above her head and makes an indistinguishable groaning noise that may or may not be her way of replying to his use of her name. Wyatt intends to tell her right then that she can forget about driving, but he's momentarily distracted by the sleepy little sounds she's making...and the way she's arching her back as she continues to stretch herself out like an agile cat...and by the notion that she's still wearing his sweatshirt and it absolutely dwarfs her willowy figure in a way that he can't ignore.

She's always cold. That's another thing he's recently learned about Lucy. They usually hang out in her apartment - always better food there - and the sight of Lucy layering herself in a collection of blankets and sweaters and fuzzy socks has become a familiar one. But tonight they somehow ended up at his place for a movie, and they were barely past the opening credits when he'd noticed that she was silently huddled against the couch with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. There was no need for either of them to make the trek down the hall to get her something warmer to wear, not when she could just as easily borrow something from him. So he'd gotten a sweatshirt from his bedroom and flung it at her with a smirk, not thinking twice about the weird ways that might turn up the dial on his attraction to her. He's avoided looking at her too intently for most of the evening, but now? He feels like a damn caveman for the fact that he can't stop himself from staring as she sluggishly locates her shoes.

Good thing she's basically sleepwalking, because he's being anything but subtle at the moment. It's not until she passes him on her way to the door that Wyatt snaps out of it, and then she's stabbing her arm repeatedly into the depths of her coat, missing the opening to her sleeve three times before he decides to intervene.

"Thanks," she mumbles before blindly digging around in her pocket for her keys.

" _Lucy_ ," he calls more deliberately, his hand on her arm to stop her quest.

She bats his hand away with a narrow glare. "My turn to drive, Wyatt."

He thinks she can't be serious, but then she's staggering through the door and he lurches after her, hastily checking the locks almost as an afterthought before he races to catch up.

And here's one more thing he's discovered about her: a sleep-deprived Lucy is _very_ susceptible to suggestion. As long as he can give her a reasonable alternative to whatever it is she's obsessing about, she's not going to argue with him.

"How about we skip your turn this time?" Wyatt tugs on the sleeve of her coat, redirecting her misguided path before she can stumble right into the stairwell's railing. "You can go twice in a row after this one to make up for it."

Her forehead ruffles for an instant, but then she shrugs and hands him her keys. "Okay. Just this once."

"Alright, let's get outta here, sleepyhead," he murmurs with a grin.

It's hardly the first time he's seen her act like a drunken toddler when they've left in the small hours of the night, and in hindsight it really makes him frightened to know how she ever got to Mason Industries on her own before they lived just down the hall from each other.

"God I need a coffee," she mutters once they're outside, blanketed in cool night air.

"We'll get some at Mason," Wyatt says as he opens the passenger door for her. "He's got better stuff than either one of us anyway."

She hums her agreement and then he's making his away around to the other side, sliding into the driver seat with a muted curse as he bangs his knee on the steering wheel. It makes her laugh even though she's halfway through a yawn when he does it, and that somehow alleviates the irritation he feels at repeating that act _again_. He's driven her car a few times now, usually when they get back from a particularly ugly jump and she's either too exhausted or on-edge to responsibly make the return trip to their building. Or that one time when she'd gotten just tipsy enough on a post-jump bar crawl that he'd felt the need to confiscate her keys for the evening. No matter what the occasion, it's pretty much a guarantee that he _will_ smack his knee before he remembers to adjust the damn seat to accommodate his height.

More often than not, she's willingly handing her keys over when necessary, but for some reason she's lacking a bit in the self-awareness department tonight.

And later, once they're at Mason and ready to suit up for the jump, Lucy's lacking self-awareness becomes even more pronounced as she somehow misses the fact that everyone within a 50-foot radius is gaping at the two of them like they've walked into work naked or something.

It takes Wyatt less than thirty seconds to realize why they're staring, and when it does dawn on him, all he can do is laugh to himself.

Lucy is still wearing his sweatshirt, and since it looks so damn good on her, he can't bring himself to care what anyone else might be assuming. Let 'em talk.

* * *

 _ii._

Their jump to 1790 is wrapped up within nine hours, which means it's barely six in the morning when they return to Mason Industries and Wyatt is feeling every minute of sleep that he's missed out on, especially after that raging bout of nausea that had nearly wiped him out from the very beginning of the mission. Even now he feels the leftover twinges of seasickness deep within his gut, but at least it's been far more subdued on the return voyage than it had been on the trip out.

For once there's no real reason to wait around for Lucy; they both have their own vehicles since he came straight from the bar last night, and his assumption is compounded when he sees that she's showing no signs of crashing anytime soon. It seems like their actions in New York had some fairly substantial ripple effects to the present timeline, so of course she's more than a little fired up as she learns of the consequences. Wyatt tries to listen as she takes inventory of the changes with Agent Christopher, he really does, but the trip back to 2017 has rekindled that thunderous headache from hours ago and he simply can't concentrate on a history lesson at the moment.

He figures Lucy will probably be attached to her laptop for hours anyway, so he slinks off to change into his street clothes as soon as the official debrief is over. If he's lucky, no one will come between him and a hasty exit. He has a date to keep with a few tablets of Tylenol and his pillow. Nothing short of a national state of emergency could detain him at this point.

Wyatt is back in jeans and a t-shirt, almost to the parking lot, when a shrill voice slices through the corridor.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home," he responds gruffly, not bothering to turn around, "we didn't come together, remember?"

Lucy isn't so easily deterred. "I'll take you. I can be ready in a minute."

He sighs, then shifts sideways to fend her off. "Lucy, you don't - "

"Well, maybe two minutes because of the damn corset."

His eyes wander to examine the amplified cleavage that's been taunting him all day, and he thinks the damn corset might not be such a bad thing. Wyatt distantly realizes that he's being obvious in his appreciation of what exactly that corset is doing for her, and by the time he tears his eyes away, he knows it's too late. There's no way she's failed to notice that he was totally checking her out like a lecherous creep. He waits for her to turn away with a scoff or a blush or _something_ , so he prepares a lame apology about being too tired to behave properly or something equally pathetic, but the moment never comes.

Lucy closes the distance between them, takes his face in her hands, and looks him straight in the eyes. "I'll give you a pass this time since you look like absolute hell right now, but don't think you can get away with that again."

He squints back at her, feeling a reluctant smirk curving across his mouth. "That's very kind of you, ma'am."

"You deserve a break after drunkenly saving our asses in...what year was that again?"

"Very funny," he says petulantly with an exaggerated roll of the eyes.

One hand drops away from his cheek as she snickers in response, but then she's all business again. "Just wait here, okay? I can tell that everything's finally catching up to you, and the last thing I need is for you to drive straight through a red light or something."

She leaves a surprising kiss on his cheek and then spins on a heel, her skirt billowing behind her as she marches toward the locker rooms with unflinching purpose.

He stares after her - his mouth slightly ajar and eyes unblinking - until she disappears from view.

"Fresh air...fresh air will help," he finds himself mumbling for the second time in the last nine hours, albeit for very different reasons this time around.

Wyatt shuffles over to the door and props himself against the opening, careful to stay in sight as he breathes in the crispness of a morning that's just beginning to dawn. He tells himself that his brain won't be able to handle the octave her voice will inevitably reach if she assumes that he's ignored her orders, but in all reality, he really knows that he'll do just about anything to keep her from worrying about him. There are plenty of legitimate stressors in her life; he refuses to add to the list whenever he can help it.

* * *

 _iii._

She's driving him crazy. Absolutely freakin' crazy.

Wyatt knows deep down that it's not fair to hold her responsible for his own heedlessly wanton appetite. He feels like a stupid hormonal teenager for how badly she's affecting him, and it's not like she's really herself at the moment, but how the hell is he supposed to ignore what she's doing to him? Her hands are _everywhere_ and she won't stop yammering about that damn kiss in Arkansas. He thinks about it enough on his own, but then to have her blabbing on and on about how good of a kiss it was in front of Rufus...? It's just too much.

Some part of him wants to be angry about how transparent and exposed he feels, but how can he take that out on Lucy? None of this would have happened if he'd done a better job of protecting her. He never should have let her out of his sight. God only knows what exactly she's on, and if the drugs in her system have any sort of lasting effect on her, he'll hold himself personally responsible. It's his job to keep her out of danger and he's failed her yet again.

And even if his guilt hadn't been enough to keep him from lashing out at her for all of the excessive touching and rambling, then the ridiculously cute pouting would have done the trick too.

" _Wy-att_ ," she whines, dragging his name out as slowly as she can with pursed lips, "I'm gardening. Let me garden. Why are you in such a rush?"

"Because Emma isn't here anymore and everyone back home will be worrying about us if we don't show up soon."

Her arms twist around his waist again and he ducks his head so Rufus won't see the unhinged look that is surely contorting his face as Lucy pitches herself too close to his neck and protests. "But I'm having fun here. I don't want to go home."

Wyatt isn't sure how much more of this he can take. All he wants to do is pin her against the nearest tree and tug that gauzy little dress right off of her.

 _Shit, get it together, Logan._

He hears Rufus snickering from beside them, and then it becomes crystal clear. Get rid of Rufus and then he can take care of this once and for all.

"Why don't you go ahead of us and get the Lifeboat ready for takeoff?" he suggests in a voice that hopefully comes off as innocuous. "We're not far now and I'd like to get her to the medics as soon as possible...just in case."

Lucy loses interest in the two of them and wobbles toward a pigeon, her voice carrying on the breeze. "Hey there, wanna hear about our friends Bonnie and Clyde? Did you know that they were supposed to die in a car but we changed it? We're not supposed to change things but Wyatt says there's always a mess."

Rufus hesitates, and Wyatt is suddenly a man of great faith, practically begging some higher power to grant him this one little favor. Probably not the right thing to ask of God, but oh well. He's desperate.

"Uh, okay. You sure you can deal with this on your own?"

He nods swiftly, trying not to look unnaturally enthusiastic at the prospect of being alone with Lucy. "Yeah, I'll handle it."

Rufus is silent for a moment, his regard darting between the two of them before he finally answers. "Alright, see you guys in a minute."

He releases a shaky breath as Rufus makes his way toward the trees, but Lucy isn't experiencing the same sense of relief. "But, Rufus! Wait! Don't you want to meet the pigeon?"

"Hey Lucy," Wyatt breathes quietly, his hand finding hers as he pulls her away from her beloved bird. "Wanna hear a secret?"

She goes very still at that. It's probably the first time she's been stationary since they found her in that sketchy bar. "Yes. Definitely."

He smirks at the incredibly serious expression on her face. He leans into her, looping his arms around her waist to keep her close. She reciprocates by gripping his shoulders and when he's this close to her, he automatically forgets everything else. It's just him and her, and he's enamored, absolutely hypnotized.

"That night in Arkansas? I thought it was a really good kiss too."

"Really?" she asks, her eyes enormously round in the moonlight, "you mean it?"

"Yep," he replies with a grin, "and someday I'm gonna kiss you again, and it will be even better than the last time. But until then you have got to stop talking about that other kiss...at least for tonight, okay?"

She squints up at him as if she's not sure that he's telling her the truth. "You wanna kiss me again? For real? Or because we're pretending again?"

"For real."

The smile that spreads across her face is unbelievably contagious. "Can I tell _you_ a secret now?"

Wyatt wants to do the right thing. He probably shouldn't encourage an already-unfiltered Lucy to tell him anything that might qualify as a secret when it seems like nothing could possibly be off limits to her right now, but some horribly selfish impulse wins out instead. "What is it?"

Lucy's nose brushes against his. "Do you know how blue your eyes are, Wyatt? Like really, _really_ blue. Prettiest eyes I've ever seen. They're perfect."

He has no idea what to say to that, but even as his mouth opens to somehow string together a response, he realizes it doesn't matter. Lucy isn't interested in a verbal reply. Her fingers are in his hair and her mouth meets his with a fervor that sends sparks surging through his entire body. She immediately takes advantage of the fact that he had been a moment away from speaking, her tongue slipping against his without any resistance as she rocks forward into him. He can't think, can't do much of anything, just falls into the kiss with an appreciative groan, because _dear God_ she's been unintentionally toying with him for the better part of an hour and his body is more than ready to ignite into flames at this point.

But then his conscience shouts back at him, reminding him that he's supposed to be more levelheaded than this. Her own words from long ago bounce back into his brain - _I trust him, he makes the right choice every time._

 _"_ Lucy," he exhales raggedly between kisses, "we - we shouldn't."

She ignores him, her teeth latching onto his lower lip, and he hisses with erratic approval. He finds that his hands fit just perfectly around her hips, that her mouth tastes even sweeter than he's remembered, and he nearly loses control altogether as her hands slide down the front of his shirt toward his belt.

He honestly has no idea how he does it, but he somehow harnesses a herculean amount of self-restraint before she can get any further.

"No, Lucy," he gasps into her ear as he seizes her hands in his. "Not tonight."

"When?" she whines, fidgeting in his grasp.

"When we're both ready. And preferably when neither of us are high."

She makes a huffing noise against his throat before tipping her head back to examine him. "You're no fun."

"Sorry, but something tells me you'll appreciate this decision later," he says with a grin, shifting his grip on her hands so that their fingers are now laced together. "Come on, Rufus is waiting for us, remember?"

Her face lights up. "Rufus! Rufus is our friend and he knows how to fly a time machine. Can you believe that?"

She doesn't wait for him to answer, and suddenly she's the one who's pulling him toward the Lifeboat instead of the other way around. She continues to recite other fun facts about Rufus along the way, and Wyatt is amused to discover that Rufus looks funny in a cowboy hat and apparently sings show-tunes in his sleep. He's so busy laughing at her lively little commentary on the third member of their team that he's totally caught off guard when Lucy yanks on his arm to stop him just a few feet short of the time machine.

"What? What is it, Lucy?"

"One more for the road."

He has no idea what she means by that until her arms are hooked around his neck and her lips are dancing against his again. And he's not a total killjoy, so he obliges and relinquishes full control to her, his hands grappling along her rib cage to acquire some semblance of balance as she very nearly knocks him right off his feet. His back thuds against the frame of the Lifeboat as she presses one last searing kiss against his mouth.

"Remember, we're not talking about this," she whispers against his lips before slanting away from him and making a zipping motion across her face.

"Right," he whispers back with a muted chuckle, trying to collect himself before Rufus can come investigate the scene that they're surely causing. "Up you go."

He flips their positions with his hands on her waist, then calls out through the darkness - "Incoming!"

Her delighted peel of resounding giggles brings an idiotic smile to his face as he lifts her up and watches her vanish into the time machine. For a split-second he wonders if there's such a thing as a secondhand acid trip, because he's feeling a little woozy himself as he climbs in behind her.

But if he's willing to admit the truth, he knows that the only high he's experiencing has nothing to do with drugs. It has _everything_ to do with the fact that Lucy clearly wants him just as badly as he wants her.

God, he's going to have to take one hell of a cold shower when they get back to Mason Industries.

* * *

 _iv._

"We don't have to dance," Lucy mutters uneasily. "Not if you don't want to."

She's jumpy, her whole body resonating with unspoken discomfort. Truthfully, he doesn't really want to dance either. He's not even good at dancing by modern standards, let alone is he well-versed in whatever the hell is happening on that dance floor at the moment. There are actual _steps_ involved, and his military training somehow failed to cover this particular scenario. Believe it or not, there weren't a lot of people doing the jitterbug in Syria.

But then the music slows to something that may or may not be a waltz, and between Rufus' not-so-subtle scheming and the way Lucy can no longer make eye contact, Wyatt has had enough. He's taking control of this situation. He's been miserable all week for no reason other than he's missed her; he misses Lucy even though she's been right down the hall this whole damn time.

She's been acting standoffish ever since they came back from the '70s, and he's a bit ashamed to recognize that he's been playing it cool with her too. He knew she would prefer some breathing room when she first came down from her trip, but he'd nearly lost his mind when she continued to be unreachable for the better part of three days. Just when he was ready to break down the door of her apartment for fear of what had become of her, she'd blindsided him in the hallway with a stiff apology for her disorderly behavior and then majorly sidestepped any further discussion by rushing off to go do God-knows-what.

Since then they've only seen each other in passing until today's call from Agent Christopher, and Wyatt was fully expecting to have to patch things up between them somewhere along the way, but from the moment they stepped foot onto Mason's compound, Lucy has acted as if nothing is amiss. She's been totally normal all day - talking, planning, smiling - all without a trace of awkwardness. It's like the last week of isolation and avoidance has never happened, has somehow been erased altogether.

Until now, of course. Because it's finally just the two of them, no Rufus or Jiya or Agent Christopher to divert her attention away from what's happened between them. So she's giving him an out, a clear way to bypass further contact - _we don't have to dance_.

 _Oh, we're going to dance alright_ , he thinks to himself with a grin.

"No, Rufus is right. We'll blend in better if we look like we actually want to be here. Plus we can have eyes on both sides of the room if we're dancing together."

Lucy tilts her head at him like she's fully prepared to argue, but he isn't taking no for an answer. He sweeps her out onto the dance floor with an arm locked around her waist and then they're swallowed up in the sea of other couples. It's been a long time since Wyatt has done anything like this, but he figures Lucy is the type of partner who will probably start leading herself if he's as terrible as he imagines.

It takes all of ten seconds for that assumption to be confirmed.

"Wait, not like that," she instructs quietly, "hold my hand out in frame. This isn't prom."

"That's a shame," he says close to her ear, taking pride in the resulting shiver that she can't conceal from him. "I was hoping to request an Usher song when the band was done with this one."

He feels the laugh that reverberates through her. Mission accomplished.

Lucy steps further into him, then pushes against his hand until he takes the cue and begins to copy the movement of the other dancers as best as he can. "Usher, huh? I would have guessed Lonestar or Shania Twain."

Wyatt smirks down at her, letting his fingers trail deliberately across the gracious span of silky skin that's on display thanks to the backless cut of the gown. "There may have also been some Lonestar in the mix, but I draw the line at Shania Twain."

"Really?" she responds with a calculating smile. "Are you _sure_ you're from Texas?"

He almost doesn't answer because he's so engrossed in the red lipstick that accentuates the shape of her mouth, making him desperate for a reprise of last week's indiscretion. "Okay, so maybe they played Shania Twain at my prom, but that doesn't mean I was out on the floor for that one."

"Too busy trying to get your date to visit the back of the limo?"

"Hey now," he replies, putting on his most convincing look of offense, "I'll have you know that I was a perfect gentleman, ma'am."

Her expression turns more serious, all signs of her teasing evaporating as she stares up at him for several breathless seconds. "Yeah, I can believe that."

Wyatt is taken aback by the sudden sincerity. He angles his face closer to hers as they continue to spin in time to the rapturous orchestra. "You look beautiful tonight, by the way. Much better than any prom date I ever had."

She smiles softly and looks away before murmuring her response. "Thank you."

"Although almost every girl at my prom had a mouthful of metal and used enough hairspray to knock a small army unconscious, so take that compliment with a grain of salt."

Lucy's smile expands into laughter as her hand slides down off of his shoulder to straighten his pocket square. "You're such a charmer, Wyatt."

"Don't I know it," he says with a brazen wink.

She rolls her eyes at him, her cheeks coloring ever so slightly in the dim lights of the ballroom. Just as he's beginning to brainstorm the best way to make that tiny blush of hers grow into something greater, his intuition snaps to life and his eyes flicker beyond Lucy to catch a glimpse of Emma as she slinks her way along the edge of the room.

 _Damn it_.

"What?" Lucy asks, twisting in his arms to glance backward. "Did you see her?"

"Yeah, we gotta move," he answers succinctly, keeping one hand fastened around hers to pull her through the crowd with him.

Funny how five minutes ago he didn't want to dance at all and now he hates the fact that it's over.

* * *

 _v._

He's felt her eyes on him all day. There's been a palpable tension radiating in Lucy's every movement since the instant Agent Christopher had told them where they were going, and as much as he hopes to prove her wrong, there's a lingering fear churning through his stomach that can't be ignored. That fear rapidly amplifies into something almost unmanageable once he gets a good look at their surroundings in 1847. Dry heat, war-torn villages, the sights and sounds of battle hanging in the air with the heaviness of a stifling blanket that can't be escaped.

Wyatt mentally repeats the truth of his circumstances over and over again - he's a time traveler, this isn't the Middle East, he has a new team that needs him, and most importantly, he won't put Lucy in that same position again. He won't get so lost in his own head that she has to run into the line of fire to save him from himself. He refuses to risk her life like that a second time. It simply is not an option. He can do this, he can stay present. He'll do it for her even if he can't do it for himself.

Miraculously, it works. He gets through the whole first day without incident, keeping any hint of a flashback or panic attack at bay by fixating all of his energy on the task at hand. He isn't the only one who is breathing easier a few hours into their mission; he can see how relieved Lucy is too. She hides it pretty well, but he catches on nonetheless. Her shoulders unwind slightly, her words come more naturally, and she's allowing herself to spare him a smile or two by the time nightfall is approaching.

The relief is short-lived, however, when everything he's been repressing comes clawing back to the surface after they've found a place to stay for the night. Rufus and Lucy have been asleep for more than an hour, but Wyatt can't find the off-switch to his racing thoughts. It hits him so unexpectedly that he's losing the fight before he even knows what's happening. All he sees are his guys in Syria, the ones he's left behind to die, the ones he's failed.

He's unraveling. He can't sit, can't sleep, can't breathe.

And apparently the 'can't breathe' part is what drags Lucy from her bed, because next thing he knows, her face is swimming into view and she's pleading with him to slow down, to inhale and exhale, to come back to her. She guides him determinedly to the lumpy little sofa. He doesn't know how long they stay like that - her hands framing his face as she kneels in front of him and coaches him in a steady voice - but eventually he can feel his heart returning to something resembling a normal pace and he watches despairingly as her face crumples before him.

"Hey, it's okay," he whispers roughly between deep breaths, "I'm okay."

She presses her fist to her mouth and nods, but he can see the flood of stress and worry that rushes into her eyes despite his reassurances. She's belatedly experiencing the residual shock of what she's seen, the weight of it breaking over her now that the danger has passed.

Wyatt reaches for her without hesitation, pulling her up from her knees and drawing her into his lap. "You did good, Lucy. I'm right here, okay? I'm fine."

She sinks into him, a slight tremor running through her. "I was so scared. I-I didn't know how to help."

"You were perfect," he murmurs into her hair, still shaking a bit himself as he weaves his arms more securely around her. "I'm sorry, I wish you didn't have to - "

"No," she responds adamantly, "don't apologize, Wyatt."

He doesn't remember much after that. Fatigue pulls at his eyelids and numbs his brain, and he gladly lets it take him under its spell, his arms still holding her firmly against him as he finally nods off.

When he wakes the next morning, it's to find Lucy making an awkward attempt to extricate herself from the jumbled entanglement of their limbs. He's so surprised by the realization that they've mysteriously arranged themselves horizontally across this pitiful excuse for furniture _and_ stayed that way for a whole night - something that's never quite happened in the present - that he fails to say anything as he squints up at her in the feeble light of daybreak.

"Sorry," she mumbles in a raspy voice, looking terribly guilty at the thought of disturbing him.

He shakes his head at her with a lethargic smile, then shifts sideways and places his hands on her waist, piloting her up and over him until he's sure she's found solid footing. "No problem, ma'am."

She seems to be a little reluctant to go too far now that he's awake, so he sits up slowly - his muscles stiff and sore from that godawful position he'd apparently slept in - and catches her hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "I'll be alright, Lucy. Promise."

Her fingertips stroke over his whiskery jaw, and he's paralyzed at the tenderness of her touch. She looks like she wants to say something, and he senses that there's some kind of internal battle going on inside of her head, but the moment eludes them at the sound of Rufus stirring in the next room.

Lucy's eyes are inexplicably sad as she steps backward and tilts her head toward the bathroom. "I'll be ready to go in a minute."

Wyatt nods, already missing the warmth of her presence just a second after she's gone.

* * *

 _vi._

He huffs up the steps so quickly that he isn't sure if his feet are even touching down or if he's somehow floating up the three stories on his way to her. At least he hopes he's on his way to her. It's impossible to know for sure. Yeah, her car is parked in the lot outside, but that really means nothing since he was the one to drive to Mason earlier that morning. She could be anywhere really, but if she's even half as upset as he is, then this is really his best bet. Lucy is the kind of person who retreats into her feelings, needs to go off the grid to let herself work through the heartbreak. He's witnessed this firsthand over the last several weeks as she's bravely dealt with her mom's treacherous Rittenhouse revelation. And as if he didn't already know this, he now can say with absolute certainty that Lucy is easily the wiser of the two of them. Wyatt prefers to swallow down his wayward emotions with an excessive amount of liquor or beat it out by getting into stupid arguments and brawls. Lucy seems to instinctively know how to process the shit that's been handed to her, a skill that he'd been taught in post-deployment counseling but still does not come naturally to him.

Just one more thing to admire about Lucy Preston, right?

That, and her insane ability to flee Mason Industries faster than a bat out of hell. How she'd gotten _anywhere_ with such a measly head start is ridiculous, but there would have been no head start at all if he hadn't been so thickheaded. God, he's an idiot.

"Wyatt?"

She's frozen at the threshold of her door, staring at him with wide eyes. He realizes that he's just burst out of the stairwell with enough emphatic urgency that she probably thinks Rittenhouse is on his tail, and he almost wishes that were the case because then he'd have a compelling reason to make her talk to him.

No such luck.

"Hey," he says, fighting to catch his breath after sprinting across the parking lot and up the stairs like a madman. "Listen, I need - "

"No," she interrupts curtly, her head shaking as she jams her key into the lock.

"But Lucy - "

She almost drops her purse as he steps nearer. "No, Wyatt. I don't want to do this. Not right now."

"Even if I'm only here to tell you that I'm sorry for acting like an unimaginable asshole?"

Her door is finally swinging open. She stands rigidly at the entrance, one foot in and one foot out. Her eyes study the floor as if all the questions of the universe are answered in the lines of her striped welcome mat.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I overreacted and I'm sorry."

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to apologize for ratting you out to my psychologist?" she asks in a low voice, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"No," Wyatt says gently, "this is the part where I apologize for acting like I have any say in what you can and cannot discuss in your appointments with her. Not my place."

She eyes him hesitantly before exhaling a deflating breath and nodding toward the apartment, inviting him to follow after her as she enters. "I don't want you to get reassigned. I can't do this without you."

He waits until the door is shut and she's clicked the deadbolt into place before he replies. "If Agent Christopher didn't kick me to the curb after I stole the damn Lifeboat, then you're probably stuck with me indefinitely."

"But you said..."

Wyatt sighs and drops his gaze away from hers. "Yeah, about that. There's no excuse for how I acted, but first of all, it's safe to say that you won't be the only one who is forced to attend mandatory sessions with the shrink after this. And I...I _hate_ psych evals. Been there, done that. I'm no good at them."

"I stand by what I said," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I want you to get help...even if you resent me for it. If that's too much for you - "

"It's not," he returns without a shadow of indecision. "I care about you too, Lucy. You know that."

The room seems very small even though they're standing several feet away from each other. Wyatt's heart is thudding heavily in his chest as he watches a range of emotions play over her face. But then her expression hardens and she's gripping the edge of her kitchen counter with white knuckles. "What's the second thing?"

"What?"

Her brown eyes drill into him with startling precision. "You were explaining why you reacted the way that you did. First of all, you hate psych evals. Secondly?"

He inhales purposefully, confronted with the landmine of what's at stake here and not sure how to step around it. "Secondly, I...I don't want anyone to think I'm incapable of doing my job. I don't want to give anyone a reason to doubt me. Not Agent Christopher, not my team, not you... _especially_ not you, Lucy."

She creeps forward and looks like she's going to reach for him, but he's disappointed when she maintains a shred of distance. "I don't doubt you."

"Yes you do," he says with a cynical smile, "why else would you need to talk about how I cracked up at Buena Vista?"

Now she's the one who's smiling, and if he's not mistaken, there's almost a glimmer of a laugh brewing inside of her. "God, Wyatt, seriously? Do I actually need to spell this out for you? It's not for a lack of trust or faith or whatever you want to call it."

He shakes his head and crosses his arms, totally lost and not afraid to admit it. "Yeah, you're gonna have to give me more to go on than that."

"I feel like all I ever do is talk about you in those sessions. Am I sharing the burden of my family situation with anyone else?" Lucy asks in a voice that he can only assume is her mimicked impression of the shrink from Homeland Security. "Yep, Wyatt. What brings me peace of mind when it feels like the bottom is falling out of my life? Oh, that would be Wyatt too. Are you taking time to decompress between jumps? Yes, because Wyatt is there to drag me out for drinks with Rufus or is convincing me to split a pizza with him while we start _GoldenEye_ for the third time - you know, since I keep falling asleep in the middle of it. Wyatt is the one who forces me to act like a normal human when all I want to do is hibernate for the next six months."

She moves closer, and he sees tears gathering in her abundant black lashes as she blinks up at him. "Sometimes I feel so dependent on you, Wyatt, and it's not necessarily a bad thing, but..."

"But what?" he questions hoarsely.

"But it's nice to know that it's not always a one way street...that I can be there for you too when you need it. That's how we got on the subject of Mexico, okay? Not because I was expressing doubts over whether or not I could trust you out in the field. We were talking about reciprocation. About purpose. I don't want to be a drain on everyone around me."

His brow furrows as he braces his hands on her upper arms. "You are not a drain, Lucy. I have never - "

"I know," she says, waving a hand dismissively, "I'm past that now. I got it all out about two hours ago...right before we started publicly tearing each other apart in front of everyone at Mason Industries."

Wyatt winces at the memory, sure that they'd put on quite the spectacle. "Sorry about that. I'm betting that really added fuel to the fire."

She peers at him with a look of utter confusion. "Meaning..?"

"Meaning most of our pals at Mason think we're doing a whole lot more than eating pizza and watching _GoldenEye_ on our nights off."

" _What_?" she screeches, decidedly panicked. "Why-why would they...?"

"Um, I don't know," he can't help but laugh at the pink hue that's spreading up her neck, "probably because we both want to be doing a whole lot more than eating pizza and watching _GoldenEye_."

Lucy opens her mouth and promptly closes it again, then finally manages to string together a real sentence after a long delay. "So today was what? A lovers spat?"

He nods in response, a smirk sliding into place as he takes note of the fact that she hasn't denied the accuracy of what he's just suggested. "So you tell me - are we just ordering pizza later or what?"

Her hand drifts over the front of his shirt. "I'm not very hungry. I think the pizza can wait."

The metaphor is starting to get muddled in his brain as her lips get very close to his. He's not really sure what the words mean anymore but the signal in her eyes is clearer than ever. "Are you sure, Lucy? Because I think I used up all of my self-discipline in 1974. There's no chance of stopping myself if I start kissing you this time."

"I don't want you to stop," she confides quietly, "as long as it's what you want too."

Wyatt feels the culmination of every near miss, every lingering hug and a litany of meaningful touches, every night that she's fallen asleep against his shoulder, every small act of affection that's passed between them; all of it has been building to this moment where there's no pretense and no excuse. The words are burning inside of him and he ignores the small thread of fear that tries to tell him only bad things can come from this. He can't hold back on her. He won't.

"It's all I want," he admits before his mouth latches onto hers with a tenacity that she readily matches. It's everything he remembers from their LSD-infused lip-lock except now he knows she's just as greedy for this kiss even without the added intensity of hallucinogens in her system. Her lips are warm and welcoming, but insistent too, like she has no intention of letting go of him for at least a hundred years. Wyatt bunches the fabric of her blouse in his hands as she rakes her fingers through his hair and he's feeling absolutely winded by the desire that's threatening to consume him right there and then. It's with a staggering breath that he breaks the kiss, only moving his face fractionally away from hers so that he can speak the truth that's pulsing through his veins. "I am so in love with you, Lucy Preston."

He doesn't get the chance to see her reaction because as soon as the words escape him, her hands are pressing on the back of his neck and her lips are attacking his, tongues colliding. The feel of her body moving flush against his, the softness that is just intrinsically _Lucy_ molding against every inch of him, sends his senses into overdrive. His hands wander past her hips to find a decent grip and then he bends slightly to lift her up onto the countertop. She immediately locks those distractingly long legs around him and another wave of heat washes over him as he lets himself - freely this time, finally without an ounce of shame - imagine all of the possibilities that come with those legs. He's groaning then, and Lucy smiles against his mouth before she leans back and lets her eyes sweep over him.

"I love you too," she whispers, looking shy and certain all at the same time, "in case you weren't sure."

"Good to know," he replies with a dimpled grin.

She reconnects their mouths and uses her legs to better align his hips against her center, and he grunts sharply, automatically thrusting forward. There's no question as to where his body thinks this is going, and he'd be lying if he said his brain wasn't hoping for the same thing. She goes very still for a moment and Wyatt pauses with baited breath, waiting for Lucy to lose her nerve and back away, but then she cautiously nudges against him again - almost experimentally - and dips her head to leave a feverish kiss on his neck. He shudders and sags into her with his hands digging into the smooth skin at her waist. Curtains of her wavy dark hair fall on either side of his face as she kisses her way back to his mouth, and Wyatt allows his fingers to slip beneath her shirt and trace up the aisle of her spine. She squirms in response, which confuses him for a second until he inches backwards to see her expression.

"Ticklish?" he asks in a husky voice that he almost doesn't recognize as his own.

Lucy bites down on her lower lip and nods. "You're not allowed to use this information against me."

He smirks at her, twisting a strand of her hair between his finger and thumb. "No promises, babydoll."

His statement - and that absurd nickname, he's sure - earns a scoff and an eye roll. She scoots down off of the counter then, and he feels every bit of her sliding against him until she's standing still, her breath hot against his neck. "Then I guess we're done here, sweetheart."

She makes a move to leave, but his arms cage her in on both sides, palms planted on the countertop behind her. His forehead rests against hers, a sinful smile on his face. "Oh no, I think we're just getting started."

Her mouth opens, but he cuts her off before she can protest, his lips crushing against hers once more. His hand pushes past the hem of her shirt for a second time, although he's careful to elicit a different response now that he knows better. He wants it off - really wants _all_ of her clothes off - so he teases her skin until she's arching deliriously into him, her eyes nearly black as she ends the kiss and holds her arms up in invitation. Wyatt accommodates the request without delay, his hands eagerly gripping the edge of the thin material and pulling the blouse straight over her head before letting it drop to the floor.

And he's speechless, head gone fuzzy, heart hammering out of rhythm at the sight of her and there's no sense in hiding it this time. A gorgeous woman - one he now has deep, undeniable feelings for - is about to take her bra off in front of him and this time he actually gets to watch. No, to hell with that, this time he's doing it himself.

"Just like the day we met," he murmurs, his fingertips toying with one lacy strap, "except I think I'll leave the underwire in this one."

She smiles coyly, and if that doesn't makes his blood boil, her response sure does the job all on its own. "Do whatever you want to it."

His eyebrows practically hit the ceiling. Yeah, he's definitely taking it off himself.

The world seems to blur at the edges until there's nothing but a melody of these intoxicating little moments. He's kissing her everywhere he can reach, working the tiny hooks of her bra as fast as he can, and then she's returning the favor with her hands diving beneath his shirt to run her fingers across his abdomen. His muscles twitch beneath her touch and he barely has the concentration to finish his task, finally ripping the bra off of her and then taking his shirt off too just to even the score. She's kissing him frantically now and he keeps her naked torso fused to his, needing as much of her skin dissolving into him as possible. She makes a whimpering noise into his mouth and he can't even find the words to ask for her permission. He just hitches her legs up around his waist again and lurches somewhat blindly toward her bedroom.

They tumble gracelessly across the mattress. Lucy's hands seem to be charged with electricity as she wastes no time finding the buckle of his belt and he's endlessly grateful for the small miracle that there's no obligation to stop her this time around. He's wanted this so badly since she'd flung herself at him in the '70s, even before then if he's being honest, and on some level Wyatt wants to slow down and attempt to savor the moment now that it's really happening.

But when Lucy succeeds at unbuckling his belt and is tugging his jeans down over his hips, the notion of slowing down is officially impossible.

And there in her sweet-smelling room, in a bed that's softer than anything he's ever slept on, all of the complications that define them fall away, become meaningless. He stops being the grieving widower. She forgets that she's been living like an orphan in an unfamiliar world. They aren't coworkers or time travelers or fighters in a clandestine rebellion, they're just two people in love, and for once they aren't feeling the pressure of defending the past or preserving the future; the present is all that exists.

* * *

 _vii._

"We should really start carrying Excedrin on these jumps. What's the worst that could happen? Aspirin was already discovered here in some form."

"Lucy..."

She continues to rummage through the adjoining bathroom, her voice fraught with emotion. "I'm not kidding. We need to be more prepared for emergencies. I'm researching the historical timeline of different painkillers when we get home."

Wyatt sighs impatiently from where he sits against the headboard, tentatively swiveling his upper body from one side to the other to test his sore shoulder and aching ribs. Just as he expects, the damage is minimal, which is what he's been trying to tell her for hours. It's done nothing to erase the stubborn lines of worry that crease across her forehead. "This isn't an emergency, Lucy. I'm fine. Just come out here please."

The sound of her distressed hunt for some outdated version of a first aid kit continues on from the next room. "It shouldn't be too hard to find something here. The guy who is credited with synthesizing aspirin - Felix Hoffman - is from Munich, and I think it hit the market at the beginning of the century. I would go out to get some but that bar is probably the only thing that's open right now...unless someone there has it on hand, which could - "

" _Lucy_."

"What?" she finally abandons her search and comes flying into the bedroom, "what is it?"

He immediately sees that she's misread his insistence as a sign of alarm or a cry for help, but he can't bring himself to feel bad about it. She's in his line of sight and that eclipses any sense of guilt that could potentially take root. His eyes appraise her from head to toe, something he's wanted to do since she first emerged from the dressing area at Mason Industries but couldn't get away with until now. Her body is perfectly suited to the style of the time period, but when isn't that the case? The neckline of her blouse sets off her delicate collarbone and the skirt's drop waist silhouette effortlessly showcases the elegance of her long, slender frame. The fluttering hem falls in varying points just below her knees, hinting at the enticing contour of her legs hidden beneath the flimsy chiffon material.

"Wyatt?" There's still a dash of concern in her voice, but recognition fills her dark irises. This is the first time they've truly been alone all day and there's no point in concealing how that's affected him. He can tell she's struggling too.

"Come here," he murmurs, patting the spot next to him on the quilted bedspread.

She sits down gingerly with her fingers caressing the top of his hand. "Are you sure you don't need anything? Not even something to wrap around your ribs?"

He leans into her and kisses her soft cheek. "Nope. Just you."

That brings a smile to her face as her hand ruffles through the stubble on his jaw. "Always the smooth talker."

"I've been told I'm very charming," he says before capturing her mouth with his.

She returns the kiss without pause, surging against him for several euphoric seconds before pulling away with a shadow of fear in her gaze.

Wyatt furrows his brow as his thumb smudges a line across her lower lip. "What's wrong?"

"It's getting harder...standing on the sidelines while you fight, watching you get hurt." Her eyes flicker downward. "I've never liked it, but it's worse now."

That statement strikes a painful chord for him even though it's one he should have anticipated. Jessica had felt the same way about his career with the military, but Lucy probably has it even worse since she's forced to see him in action on a regular basis. Of course it's impacting her differently now that their relationship has taken on new meaning, and even though he can't do anything to change their circumstances, he's burdened with the need to ease the melancholy frown that's splitting across her face. He presses his lips against her temple, then uses the pads of his fingers to raise her chin so that she'll look at him. "I get it, Lucy, but that's always going to be a part of what I do. Even when this is all over and we beat Rittenhouse, I'll get a new assignment that comes with its own risks. That's just what I'm trained to do."

She nods against his hand, blinking back tears. With nothing else to offer her, Wyatt bridges the gap between them and kisses her again. It's unhurried and deliberate, wishing to prove to her just how alive and well he is despite the hits that he's taken earlier in the day. The embrace escalates when he feels her tongue at the seam of his lips and he opens his mouth to her without question. His hands claim the curve of her hips, shifting her closer to better accommodate the kiss, but she takes it a step further when she slings a leg over him and lowers herself into his lap. His head tilts back with a contented groan as he clings to her more fiercely.

"Oh my god," she mumbles in an exhale, tearing herself away from him but not getting too far since his reflexes are faster, his arms securing her in place before she can scramble off of him. "You're _hurt_ , oh my god, I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking and we shouldn't be - "

"Yes, we should. That wasn't because you did something wrong...it was because you did something _right_ ," he corrects with a crooked grin.

"Oh," she returns timidly, her pale skin flushed with the remnants of desire. "Still... _here_ , Wyatt? In 1923 Germany? We're technically on the clock."

"When aren't we on the clock?" he mutters with a kiss to her neck, and then another. She's melting into him, allowing him to maneuver her closer again, but just when he thinks he's sufficiently distracted her, she puts both hands on his chest and pushes him back against the headboard.

"Wait, what about Rufus?"

"What _about_ Rufus?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "Something you haven't told me there, Lucy?"

She chokes out a laugh and thumps his chest playfully, careful to avoid anywhere that could actually cause him pain. "Hilarious. I meant Rufus could come back any minute and find us like this. I told you I don't want everyone gossiping about us."

"And _I_ told _you_ that everyone is already gossiping about us," he insists with a smirk, "Rufus included."

"Even if you're right, we still can't have sex here, Wyatt. He's right across the street."

"I know," he relents with his hands in her hair. "We'll stop."

She nods her agreement and lowers her face against his, kissing him tenderly. "Okay."

"Okay," he returns with a hum.

But they don't stop. How could he possibly stop when she's straddling him with stars in her eyes, somehow still smelling irresistible even after the hellish day they've had? And he plans to hit the brakes eventually, but Lucy doesn't object when his hands untuck her blouse and roam upward to flirt with the clasp of her bra. She also doesn't prevent him from removing the shirt and bra altogether when he can't resist any longer, and then she's the one who's clawing at the buttons on his shirt and yanking it off of his shoulders. Can he really be blamed for the fact that they've completely lost track of everything but each other?

Going by the venomous glare that Rufus is sporting a few minutes later - while rubbing the spot on his forehead that's collided with the wall, no less - it's safe to assume that, yes, Wyatt can definitely be blamed for this particular lapse in judgement.

* * *

 _Whew congrats if you made it to the end! This one was really supposed to be shorter than part 1 but whooops a lot of foreplay happened and I'm hopeless. Please review because I feel like I just wrote/edited the equivalent a marathon ;) Unless something wild happens, this fic is officially done. THANKS!_


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